damned_institute | Night 60: M51-60 Hallway

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Night 60: M51-60 Hallway

[M55]

Sai wasn't sure he liked the idea of staying in his room for the night, but then he didn't exactly have many other plans either. He considered testing out some chakra techniques before Sakura arrived, but realized it was best to wait until she was already there. As a medical ninja, she would have a better idea of how to check his full condition.

He hadn't had much access to his chakra before and he'd made do. He could manage that again now, as bothersome as it would be.

The ninja sat on the edge of his bed and tugged his shirt off to examine the bandages again. There was no reason why he shouldn't remove them before she got there, just to make her job easier. It would give him the chance to examine the wound on his own first as well.

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[From here.]

The trip to Albedo's room seemed to last an eternity, a prolonged torture in light of injury and weight. Still, he slid through the threshold with practiced movements, taking care not to disturb the occupant within--who, as expected, was fast asleep. Nigredo watched him for a minute with a melancholic smile, before quietly seating himself at the vacant desk.

A soft hiss escaped his lips as the child settled, which was quickly stifled and pushed aside. Instead, he brought up the journal, flipped to the beginning page, and stealthily positioned his flashlight to illuminate only the writing. Satisfaction came after minor adjustments, and soon, Nigredo began to read.

One could speak of many things.

(Shoes and ships and sealing wax.)

Detail the methods, commit them to memory or murder.

(Cabbages and kings. Why the sea is boiling hot.)

True was defined by how you recalled it, after all.

(And whether pigs have wings.)

And you could love someone so much that you had no choice but to kill them.

This, Albedo knew. This, he knew quite well.

(Shall we be trotting home again?)

The answer came there none.

-

Dreams are your mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep.

The strange voice rings with promise and potential.

“Poor, pathetic child,” the voice calls, lovingly, mockingly. “The day you kill him will be the best and worst moment of your life, I suspect.”

Except that’s not it--

Words come as a drone from the source. A kind of survival mechanism in itself, a denial of what cannot be. For the truth remains. As perfect as it always was. As perfect as the day the thought occurred, before it was ever set in motion. A faltering dance of sensation and sound, blood and breath.

Albedo laughs, and the sound is high, anxiety in the tones, mad humor underneath. “...Except that's not it at all.” A rash murmur, and now one to be followed through. “That moment, the best and worst. Would be when he kills me, I think.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, a painful moment stretched out. The other replies neutrally, “You sound like you're anticipating this, Albedo. Are you resigned to it?”

Anticipating? No. Perhaps wishing is the better word. Wishful thinking powered by logic and a line spoken.

And resignation? Nothing like. Because Albedo--

(Was caught. Caught in-between the sands of nothing and nothing he could do would change--)

They would die. So he would make them kill him first.

-

This is the way the world ends.

Because Albedo remembers. As well as he hadn’t before. Of a time when three were closer to friends, could claim themselves rightfully as brothers. When sleeping in a heap was deemed natural, when fleeing--laughing--hand in hand was something well-known. Albedo can remember them growing up and then--

But he’s not there yet. Not to that “and then.” It’s still happy yet, they still love each other yet, and--

They still love each other.

Love each other.

Love.

-

The mind is an ocean--you can only traverse some of its seas.

-

‘For he did not know, that beyond the lake he called home, there lied a deeper, and darker ocean green. Where waves are both wilder and serene. To its ports I've been, to its ports I've been.’

-

The boy called Albedo had went to sleep soon after he entered the room given to him and another. Albedo, was, by habit, a chronic insomniac, and yet he fell into sleep as if he had no choice left to him. Escaped into the unconscious domain as if it gave all of life meaning. There was nothing wrong with him--he was, by definition, perfectly healthy, moreso even, from eating the past few days. But still, this happened, and this was what transpired.

Albedo dreamed. Nonsense and secrets alike, but dreams are the mind's way of filing memories, bits and pieces shifting as you sleep, and so he slept. And so he dreamed. Dark giving way to light, and then, life flooded where there had been naught, and for the first time in a very long time, longer than the child could recall, he existed in a state that he could define as alive. Not whole, not nearly, but something more than the shambling shadow that he’d defined himself as weeks prior. A flash of pain, a burn like love, and then a heartbeat. Clear and simple and solitary. Only one.

It existed as unnatural, but the point was that-- it still existed. Even now. Albedo was still something alive.

Nigredo was here.

The thought formed before he was even conscious, waveform recognizing waveform, mind recognizing mind, heart recognizing heart, and here was Nigredo. Not the baby, not 669, but simply who he was, and Albedo wondered if perhaps he could glimpse who he would be in this half-state. Stretch to look forward and see--

Because they would live. They would both live. And they would both grow older and age and learn and experience and they would live. That was all there was. Albedo would accept nothing else.

He had the sensation of swimming upward, of warmth, and then he was reaching a hand up to rub at his eyes, a heavy feeling dragging his limbs down. He was moving before he was completely awake; turning to drop his legs to the ground and yawn, then standing to nearly toddle to his brother, only to drop down again, folding his legs to sit on the floor next to Nigredo’s chair. Albedo laid his head on his brother’s lap and rubbed against Nigredo’s leg. “…‘there lied a deeper, and darker ocean green. Where waves are both wilder and serene.’” To its ports I’ve been.

The quote was murmured, finished in his mind, and he had no sooner spoken, then he rolled his gaze upward. Nigredo’s face was shadowed, but Albedo was content to know he was there. The boy closed his eyes. “He loved us, you know.

“Something may have changed, in his time or ours, in that reality, perhaps not our own. But he loved us. Completely. Entirely. We were something precious.”

So it was more okay. Now. Life had not been made of a lie. Albedo understood, and Nigredo would be made to understand. Things had changed, but they had been loved.

His apparent serenity was edged with magenta, provoking him to remember one thing.

You could love someone so much that you had no choice but to kill them.

Yes. Albedo could only hope. Only wish. Only dream.

He hadn't the chance to go very far--that is, not in the way of time. The first page barely filed into the inky black when Nigredo heard light shuffling from the bed, and the blood froze in his veins. He was still, a statue in child form, with his fingertips pressed against the bindings of Renamon's journal and breaths stifled deep into his chest. Reasons for such reactions existed as scarce; he had to remind himself Albedo wouldn't find fault with a necessary intrusion if it came from him. He was, as remembered, wanted, even as his heart pounded within the grips of a possible death. In the passing seconds, the air had changed, too fleeting for comprehension. But his instincts always knew where all else faltered: he knew an approaching end like he knew what lay within his own mind.

Albedo laid his head and murmured softly. Continued in speech as Nigredo breathed carefully and reached to touch the other's hair. There was love in the air and in his breath, and without the slightest want, Nigredo trembled. Remembered love and its associations, the deaths of faiths.

He held little doubt that one part of the declaration stood as truth. The evidence was many and mounting; Nigredo could never quite see Rubedo favoring anyone above his twin. Death was one extreme, perhaps beyond forgiveness, but Nigredo remembered. Like he tried not to before. There was love in the air and death approaching (shot down and shot through). There was something of truth not to be touched.

"Loved you," murmured Nigredo with shadowed eyes. "He loved you. Because you are the brother he lost." Wasn't that it? In the myriad of potentials, only that came as the single constant. The truth of Rubedo and his love:

"I have loved you more than the others."

"Remind me to tell you about it sometime..." Wasn't that it?

"That was what he told you." Nigredo blinked. So don't. Don't include another who knew nothing of such things.

Edited 2011-12-26 23:56 (UTC)

Ah, but the darling dear was effortlessly wrong, now wasn't he? Albedo giggled, laughter ricocheting, but seemed for the moment content to have Nigredo's hand on him, content to nuzzle into Nigredo's lap. "Loved me?" he asked, and sounded sincere in his wonderings, despite the edge of melodiousness starting to seep through. "He told me?" The surprise was feigned and obvious, as obvious as the fact that he did not hold to what Nigredo had said.

It seemed, then, that this would be how the night went. Albedo, of humor and touched by Song, ignoring his brother's meanings to instead hold to his points. A steady affection, underlined by a threat that wouldn't come, for-- Hadn't they played this game before?

They had. And because of that, Albedo would move differently.

Albedo had seemed sleepy and languid. Assuming this, however, would prove to be a mistake. Near inhumanly quick, the boy darted out his arm to grab a foot of the chair his brother was sitting in, yanking at an angle to dump its occupant in a crash to the floor. There was no hesitance to that act, and more, no hesitance to Albedo then near leaping upon Nigredo, knees around a waist and hands holding wrists. For a moment, Albedo stared down, and there was emptiness in his gaze.

Then he only shook his head, and looked down at Nigredo with something like understanding. "You can't be faulted for thinking that," he said, and his tone had normalized from the moments prior. "Especially here, in this place. But." But~ "I know something you don't know. Nigredo."

The link echoed the name, with pain behind it. {"Nigredo!"}

A memory shared. For Nigredo couldn't have know this. For Nigredo, in that time....

Had been dead.

The scene flashed through minds as it had been, after blood and gore, and instead to a sobbing redhead in a heap on the ground.

--"No, dammit!" It was Rubedo who shouted, angry and torn, even as a sob went through him, form sagging as if his strings had been cut. "Don't do this to me again! Don't..." Whatever had been about to be said went unfinished; another sob cutting him off. No further words came before that night ended, instead, only the perfect memory pressed into mind of Rubedo just sitting there and crying.

Over a love lost. Over a brother's death. Over Nigredo's missing waveform.

Over Nigredo. Because Rubedo loved him as well. That was the truth that held as well as any other.

Edited 2011-12-28 04:58 (UTC)

It wasn't that he had taken to surface appearances. He had managed to learn something in the process of falling, of another's psyche scraping across an edge. One could say he merely lost the will for active resistance. Nigredo heard the laughter, the feigned echoes, and like clockwork, he steeled for a break. Passed into quiet resignation. Allowance would be given; he had nothing of wants in light of himself. His brother could act as he wished.

He dropped the journal as the chair moved, and Nigredo tumbled out with only elbows and forearms cushioning his fall. The impact was enough to send ripples through waveform, enough to cause a soft noise to spill from his lips. Hands clamped tightly to wrists while weight left him motionless on the ground; it was almost comical how trapped he found himself to be. Warmth blossomed against the right side of Nigredo's chest and the opposite shoulder, the scent of iron seeping in the air.

And yet, despite everything, he offered no counter. Gave nothing in defense. Albedo had his reasons, Nigredo supposed. He usually did. It was only proper, then, to practice patience. For a sibling to watch another and wait for the coming declaration.

To his surprise, what Albedo put forth was death.

He did not recognize the scene before him, the emotions playing out for his consumption. Here was Rubedo in a heap. In the chamber where he had betrayed more skills than were probable for a twelve-year-old bioweapon, he was weeping, likely for the sake of that bloody pile at his feet. Without doubt, if the raised voice offered any indication. This was a perfect memory--closest, really, to any held within the inky black--and how it carried through the link cemented its truth. No, Nigredo could not deny what was shown had been real.

Instead, the boy was allowed two facets formerly unknown. One, Rubedo had mourned his death, however temporary and conflicting it had been. This comforted something broken. This awakened a dwindling hope.

Two-- "Again, hm?" he murmured. "I'm to die again." Sooner than planned and likely young. Should he have ever been surprised?

What Nigredo spoke was enough to unfocus Albedo from his task set, to instead place importance on a vow Albedo had just internally given to himself. Both of them would live. And it mattered naught which future Rubedo had come from, which version of death he had seen. Lines were crossed, this was assured, and from that version, he had told of Nigredo dying with Yuriev, which that man, as stated, had been gunned down in a heap of protectiveness and pain. Albedo believed both, and as the saying went-- It was when the impossible was gone, that whatever was left, despite how improbable, remained what was true. Both spoke truth and yet could not--therefore, it was only correct to take that redhead's words as fact. Different versions, different realities, and here, again, Albedo would state that.

His hold relinquished on Nigredo's wrists; he dropped to his elbows, leaning forward, chin in his hands above Nigredo's face. "Wrong," the boy stated perfectly, as something in his stomach flipped. "That version did. You had many discrepancies from the version that Rubedo described--you are yourself and not that one, and your fate, therefore, is to live.

"Can I tell you a secret?" the boy asked without missing a beat, eyes childlike and open. The acquiesce was given, and he nodded to nothing, coming to terms with something inside of himself. There was a great deal shifting within Albedo, the majority due to the body beneath him, and that was something perfectly clear. It wasn't something that was cast as detrimental-- He was accepting it in the way of want, and wouldn't push it aside. It remained that, for Nigredo, Albedo would do a great many things. And that was only just now becoming clear.

"I do think ahead, you know," he said, and it seemed disjointed with the subject before. "I always have. There are patterns to things, and if you can see them, you can shift them, and I... have always seen them. So looking ahead, as it were, is habitual. Planning for things is natural. I have always--" He halted there, tongue sliding over his teeth in an unknown emotion. Yes, that was a true statement. He had always-- "...Planned ahead for things."

Only at this point did Albedo glance down at his brother; he settled where he was, keeping his upper body propped with his arms as he relaxed to lay on Nigredo with his lower body. He realized, idly, that he had stopped wondering if he'd be rejected somewhere along the line. "I want you to live. You personally, for me personally. Not because you're my brother or that I don't want us to be alone. But because I want you... to remain. The you that you are."

The boy smiled, it came slightly as self-deprecating. "...I want to see us grow up, Nigredo. I want to plan for that, too."

Edited 2012-01-03 00:03 (UTC)

You are yourself. His fate, therefore, was to live. It was so opposite, so antithetical to the end he had prescribed to, particularly in light of the revelations put forth. A father's command, his role, the tearing of connections, that eternal loneliness. Perhaps a single element might have merely played at tendencies, but the combination of all proved to be his downfall. Thus, Nigredo assumed death came at the conclusion of each path treaded upon. For Nigredo had thought, had forseen solitude as his only companion, and therefore, he had buried his desires. Destroyed his wants in favor of resignation and an infant's dream. He hadn't thought to believe he would live. To believe that he should live for himself.

Still, Albedo would speak it. He would intone perfectly, grace close to a wish long since dead. Nigredo was wrong, hm? What were the discrepencies, then, that Rubedo had placed? He suddenly wondered on the length and breadth of knowledge involved. The other wouldn't press certainty unless he had a foundation. Albedo wouldn't unless--

He had a secret. Without wanting, blood rushed past Nigredo's ears, filling canals with the buzz of insects. And still, the boy gave agreement. He gave audience to Albedo and his reveal, which proved to be a little less than expectations. A little more to affects. Older brother thought for the future, and contrary to what had been claimed in that solitary cell, that lonely place, he planned to live. Contrary to that near slip in the bloody hall, he planned for Nigredo's life. And Nigredo--

Began to cry. Again, without wanting, but the child found it closer to relief than a burden. He pressed eyelids shut as tears fell across his cheeks; they fell from his eyes to collect in pools at the base of his head, clear and light and another word he could never quite verbalize. This sensation was unfamiliar, touching foreign in his mind, but he could place the reason for its presence. Somehow, Nigredo responded. Gave without pause.

For this was not his sadness in the open.

"For an instant," he choked out, "I had thought you would die. Since solitary. Or you would take my life. Since last night." He breathed in and caught the scent of blood. "If you hadn't remembered. If you hadn't come back." If you had discovered the reason for my birth-- "It would be better to want to die than wait to be rejected. Rubedo, too." It would be better to assume the worst than hope. The phrases were broken, intermingled with sobs, but there it lay.

However. "But that doesn't matter if you say that. If you'll have me, I'll stay where I am." Where they were. {I never want to disappear. I would be happy to live if you say that.}

Because in that instance, in that span of a minute, Nigredo thought he had heard acceptance. And why would he ever think to die if someone wished to keep him for him?

Edited 2012-01-03 07:29 (UTC)

For an instant--

Nigredo wept. His brother cried and stammered out phrases, and Albedo only bore witness. This was a confession, and comforting, interrupting--would ruin that sanctity. This was a confession, Albedo thought, and all that was Nigredo became clear. His silent longing, his standoffish behavior. The opposite of Albedo. Albedo would cling in want, force himself onto another in fear of loss. And Nigredo.

Nigredo would let go. Back up and watch at a distance rather than face that risk of pain when a hand would let go. His little brother could not face the thought of that pain, and perhaps if Albedo wanted a source for that mentality, he need look no further than himself. For, surely, over the years, Albedo had been a good example of what pain was caused when one clung to another who would walk away.

And yet. Here. Here.

Here, Nigredo would move contrary to that. Here, he would promise commitment if Albedo only said the word. Nigredo would give himself to one that had, over a month ago, tried his utmost to kill him. Nigredo would give himself wholly to Albedo, who spoke devotion and affection to a child that had known nearly none. Nigredo would claim to never want to disappear, to remain, to stay, and Albedo would only exist in a continuous overwhelm. Nigredo was giving him what he desired. If he only accepted.

Albedo shifted again, slid his hands to either side of Nigredo's face and stared into his brother's eyes. "You won't be rejected," he said firmly. "You are wanted." Emotion skittered across Albedo's face. His voice dropped quieter. "I want you."

The boy kissed his brother's cheek. "I won't hurt you." The action repeated at a jawline. "I won't be killed." And at a chin. "I won't be reckless." At the corner of Nigredo's mouth. "I won't reject you." As light as butterfly wings, he graced his lips across his brother's. "I want you to stay."

{Nigredo.} Albedo tipped his head, pressed lips against like more firmly. {Stay with me.} I love you.

He would promise commitment and more. He would give the entirety of himself to a brother--whether he proved to be the death of Nigredo or otherwise, Nigredo would never care. He wouldn't mind as long as the other would promise only acceptance. Welcome his existence and want for him to continue. Again, why would he ever think to die if someone wished to keep him for him?

The words offered spoke of confirmation--the affections, an admission. He recalled many and could not remember ever receiving such kindness from anyone. It was tragic, almost, the touch of lips. Kisses could easily fall to waste if Nigredo held so much as one irredeemable quality. He knew this. More than anything, he would always expect it. Fear it. To be hated. For any number of reasons.

Because he was weaker than Albedo. Was as fragile as glass and sand. He would always doubt, therefore, of brothers and their love. To protect them, he would kill faith.

Conscience and cowardice are really the same things. However.

His mind was slipping away, cracked against a fracture. Green eyes spiraled into a haze, overflowed with tears, and carefully, he reached to grab Albedo's shirt. {Then I'll stay. I'll stay with you.} So don't. {Don't reject me. Don't hate me. I will give you anything you want, if you will let me.}

The hand tightened. I love you. I love you.

It was not as if he was given to indecision. Even as Nigredo sent things that had the possibly to damn him, the thought streaked only once through his mind and vanished-- That what Nigredo was saying could ruin him, placed in hands that would use it as they willed. He would have. Completely and utterly, given the chance prior. But now he would almost ignore it. Almost forget those words, I will give you anything you want. It was almost like pleading. Pressing. Nigredo was breaking and Albedo wondered at the source.

Wondered more how much Nigredo wanted this, if his mind couldn't handle the thought of it.

He pressed a light kiss to his brother then pulled back, stroking a hand through dark hair. "I said what I want," he murmured quietly. {I want you to remain as you are. I want you to stay with me, and live.}

Comfort was the strangest. It seemed near odd to offer it here, but it came as necessary. {Why would I reject you?} the boy sent affectionately, pressure at his temples. {I don't hate you at all.} His fingers maintained their path of petting through his brother's hair, and he kissed Nigredo's forehead softly. {I care about you. I do love you.}

Comfort was the strangest, and it broke the already fractured existence. It was necessary, a prerequisite to a transition, for the being that Nigredo was could not accept affections. As he was, he could not live on promises nor vows of devotion. They would slip away given time, fall beneath stagnation, and waste away into ink and shadow.

So Nigredo, as he was, had to change. Break and reform to accept the unknown. The kindest of these came in the form of comfort.

And his brother was beginning to understand its truth.

His arms moved. Without thinking, he wrapped them around the other boy, tight enough steady the flow of blood. {Then I'll live. As I am.} The only want he could give in the exchange. Perhaps, the most difficult want to uphold. {I won't leave you.} Nigredo made a whimper, sobs stifling under his tongue. His head sparked against the imposed limitations, and he knew tomorrow would enter as a migraine. The child, unfortunately, couldn't think of another method in speech. Touch and overwhelm rendered vocal chords useless, and Nigredo had much to convey.

Like thanks. Like gratitude. {I'm glad.} He choked on a cry. {I'm really glad.}

Nigredo's arms wrapped around Albedo, possibly more tightly than they ever had. With this, came a clearer form of need, again one that he knew, and while his brother clung beneath him, Albedo continued petting him, surprisingly calm for the circumstances at hand. Perhaps it was only the fact of sleep, solid and unavoidable after a point. Or a dream, or simply the fact of Nigredo in his arms. Here, laid care, nicely and pressingly clear, and despite the apparent misery, Albedo was near content.

Because Nigredo was glad. The link could not lie. "I'm glad, too," he said quietly. {I'm glad you're here.}

This came as a repeat, said before, but he didn't have the mind to place it. Instead focus shifted to a different point. He touched his forehead against Nigredo's to gain his attention. "Let's get off the floor, okay?" It couldn't be comfortable to be crushed under your brother. Despite the fact it was Albedo's fault. He held to the action. It was only but necessary at that point.

Tonight was not a night to be making side trips. Last night treating time somewhat laxly had been a luxury due to having his full strength back, but that was no longer the case.

Aidou’s appetite raged against wasting time with Aigis, too. Even if she genuinely wanted to discuss his dietary needs, he suspected he was going to have to go hunting afterward, anyway, unless she had conveniently found him fresh human blood. He doubted that. And since he needed something to eat now, Aigis’ and her mediation efforts were just in the way.

But as impatient as he was to get started procuring a meal, the unfortunate reality was that he couldn’t just ignore her. She was still a problem, and one that obviously hadn’t learned her place in the grand scheme of things--which was out of sight and out of mind. Perhaps being chastised by a vampire with a short temper would be the lesson she needed. Either way, he had agreed to meet. Dealing with her face-to-face was the only sensible thing to do, at the end of the day. The alternative was ignoring her summons, which looked an awful lot like running away. Not that he really cared what she thought about him.

It was not with the same good humor that Aidou straightened the tie of his Night Class uniform as he had last night. In less than twenty four hours he had been reverted back to a helpless prisoner, which nettled him just as much as his empty stomach did.

Let’s get this over with, he thought to himself.

_{[to here]}

Edited 2011-12-23 01:04 (UTC)

[from here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1215395.html?thread=81850275#t81850275)]

Sakura jogged the last few steps to Sai's room, checking the door number again to be sure before she knocked twice and pushed it open.

"Sai? Are you still here?" she called out. While she didn't anticipate any sort of ambush, with all the ridiculous territory claims on the bulletin today, it was hard to be sure exactly what to expect.

[So late, I'm sorry!! Holidays, LJ changes, and family dramu... but I will be quick from now on. :( ]

He was indeed still there. There was no ambush waiting for her on the other side of the door, just a wounded and shirtless ninja greeting her with a smile. Sai opened the door further to let her in before making his careful way back to the bed where he could sit and await further diagnosis.

"I'm glad you could make it. I apologize for my lack of activity the past couple nights." Even if it wasn't completely his fault, he still felt the need to address that. He didn't like being kept inactive if he could help it, especially here where their time at night was limited, and even though they'd already seemingly exhausted what there was to do in the basement.

Sakura allowed herself a small smile when Sai greeted her at the door. Admittedly, he didn't look much better than he had when she'd seen him earlier, but at least he was still alive and breathing and that was what mattered. She closed the door behind her, then followed him to the edge of the bed as though it was as natural as anything, just another check-up after a difficult mission. Except this was definitely not like any hospital in Konoha.

She knelt to inspect the damage, but since he seemed alright with sitting up, she wouldn't force him to lie down. Though his apology only made her bristle, smile quickly turning to a frown. An apology?! You sure as hell oughta be sorry, but not for some idiotic lack of activity!!

"You don't have to apologize for that," she managed, though it was a near thing to keep the rest from spilling out in a huff behind. After removing the bandage quickly and efficiently, Sakura took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes, brow knit in both concentration and an effort to forget her own irritation.

"You can lie down if you need to, but try not to move too much," she advised. Her chakra was minimal enough as it was, she didn't want to chance some sort of mistake. Once he was settled, she began, feeling the familiar flow of chakra through her body regulate itself before she ordered it to her fingertips and directed it further still, to repair the wounds of her patient.

He leaned back, supporting himself on his arms so that she could get a the injury better, but he didn't lay down. That just made him feel weak, and even though that was a perfectly fair thing to be feeling right now he'd rather remain sitting.

Sai held perfectly still, watching his teammate calmly. There were many things he could say right now, several more apologies to be made, but he kept silent. If he did say he was sorry for what he'd done in the coliseum, the words would be hollow. He wasn't sorry. They'd gotten themselves tricked into that position, and if anyone was going to take the fall for it there, he was the best option - the only option, as far as he was concerned.

The healing process would be draining on Sakura, and he hoped she would keep a good watch on her own energy reserves. He didn't need that much help. The Institute was healing him as it was.

The healing process itself took only a handful of minutes, but where she could fix such a wound to the point that a ninja could be battle-ready or at the very least, be able to survive until sufficient bedrest and natural healing could finish the job, here things were a little different. While the cells began to knit themselves back together with the help of her chakra, Sakura could feel herself tiring much quicker than before. Still, she persisted, and by the time she was finished, she could be fairly sure Sai would be able to move without much worry of the wound re-opening or getting any sort of infection.

She was also fairly sure she shouldn't try to stand for a moment or two. The heavy use chakra left her legs feeling like jelly and it was a good thing she'd decided to kneel.

"Don't push yourself too much and you should be fine," she advised. She wouldn't be so foolhardy as to tell him not to leave or to stay inside while everyone else around him was out fighting battles and trying to escape. Even if she was irritated with the casual way the other ninja treated something as important as his own death, she knew at least part of the anger was at her own guilt. Wishing she'd done something to stop it, if she'd been able to think faster, come up with some way out that didn't involve her friends dying, even, if she were honest with herself, wishing she'd been brave enough to make the same decision Sai had.

Sai took a long look over the wound, running his fingers gently along the mark. Sakura did good work when it came to healing, though he hadn't expected otherwise.

Just as predictable was the effect of her being exhausted afterward. He moved his hand to her shoulder, a calm request for her to stay where she was for the moment. At least until she'd regained a little of her energy. Another smile was offered her for her efforts, this one coming easily.

"Thank you."

Unlike nights previous, Sasuke was prepared to go well before the doors unlocked. Too much time spent in the hazy grip of the Institute's sleep had taught him not to take consciousness itself for granted; his roommate was sleeping when the doctor's nighttime persona crackled through the building, as if to prove the point. It had been days since they had spoken, less out of deliberate avoidance on Sasuke's part and more from the control Landel had over their very waking hours.

The boy had been here a long time, he'd claimed: perhaps it would prove useful to ask what he had observed, however irritating his attitude.

For tonight, however, Sasuke opened and closed the door, silent out of habit more than consideration. The latch slid home on the noise of Martin Landel's voice gloating and then sulking through names meaningful in presence and absence.

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Night 60: M51-60 Hallway

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